


Dancing with a Pina Colada (or Something)

by Unforth



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Castiel and Dean Winchester Need to Use Their Words, Costume Parties & Masquerades, Emotional Infidelity, Established Relationship, Happy Ending, Inspired by a Rupert Holmes Song, M/M, New Year's Eve, Sadness and Fluff, but they work it out, inspired by a sam smith song
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-13
Updated: 2020-02-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:00:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22697539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unforth/pseuds/Unforth
Summary: If Castiel is honest with himself, he can't deny it's been a long time since his relationship with his husband Dean has worked.Still, he knows that seeking one night of love and romance at a masquerade ball, without telling his husband, is the wrong thing to do. He's cheating, and it hurts, but he needs this - needs to remember what some happiness feels like......maybe this will be the push he needs to finally end things. It's not what he wanted from his life with Dean, but they're not happy, and something has to give.And so he steps out into the masquerade ballroom, eyes scanning the perimeter of the room as he seeks the perfect person to dance with...(or: the one where Castiel and Dean think they're in "Dancing with a Stranger" by Sam Smith and Normani, but they're actually in "The Pina Colada Song" by Rupert Holmes)
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 29
Kudos: 144





	Dancing with a Pina Colada (or Something)

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like shit today, can't focus on any stories that actually matter, and I've been meaning to write this bit of nonsense fluff for the last, like, 9 months or something.
> 
> If you know the two songs, you know the *exact* plot for this story. If you don't...take a listen, or you can google lyrics, or you can just read the story and be surprised.
> 
> Sam Smith and Normani - [Dancing with a Stranger](https://youtu.be/av5JD1dfj_c)  
> Rupert Holmes - [The Pina Colada Song](https://youtu.be/Fsj2wdFDmLk)
> 
> Also sorry if this is kind of a mess, I really did not edit it carefully cause I just wanted to get it done.

Nerves had Castiel on edge, staring at his reflection in the dressing room mirror, adjusting his mask for the umpteenth time. Coordinating this evening had been so damn hard, and he’d waited so long, and he’d anticipated future happiness for such a long time, and…

...and he  _ really  _ shouldn’t be doing this.

_ How can I betray Dean like this? _

_ How can I take our years of marriage for granted? _

_ What if he finds out? _

_ What if I hurt him? _

_ What if I’ve been wrong about everything, if our issues have just been in my head, if I’m the problem here and my own reticence to talk is the reason we’ve lost what we once had? _

_ … _

_ What about all the times he’s hurt me? _

_ What about the distance between us?  _

_ What about his abandoning me? _

_ What about him violating his marriage vows? _

_...I did all those things too… _

_...we’re both to blame; regardless of who has done worse or more, there’s no pretending that things are okay between us.  _

_ Still, I regret that I’m too much a coward to approach him and discuss these issues. It’s shameful that I’ve resorted to...this. _

_ It better be worth it. _

_ It has to be worth it. _

“Attention, revelers!” the voice crackled over the loudspeaker. “Don your masks. Adjust your capes. Prepare your speeches. The masquerade is at hand!”

_ It  _ will  _ be worth it _ .

Taking a deep breath, Castiel examined himself one final time, assured that his face was hidden, his body cloaked in a broad swath of fabric, his appearance immaculate. Tickets for the city’s famous New Year’s Eve ball were $1,000 a pop - the money went to charity and was tax deductible, but it was still a pretty penny - and Castiel felt nearly as guilty about the expenditure as he felt about lying to his husband. He’d claimed the money was for his investment portfolio. He’d claimed he was spending the evening watching the ball drop with friends. He’d lied and he’d lied and he’d spent and he’d spent, and he’d be furious at himself if he wasn’t so desperate for this chance to be spend even a few hours as someone  _ other _ than Castiel Novak-Winchester. Fortunately, Dean had agreed that instead of exchanging Christmas gifts, they’d each take the same amount and just...get themselves something they wanted.

Castiel hadn’t even  _ bothered _ asking Dean what he was getting. Once upon a time, he’d have waited on baited breath to hear every word. Once upon a time, he’d have been as eager to share his own plans. Once upon a time, they’d been over the moon with each other, and nothing was sweeter than the sound of the other’s voice, the feel of their hands, the enjoyment of their company. 

Once upon a time hadn’t led to a happily ever after, though, and this evening was the first time that Castiel allowed himself to acknowledge that.

Emerging into the hallway, Castiel joined the other attendees as they streamed toward the ballroom floor. 

Dean was such a workaholic, always finding trivial job-related excuses to avoid Castiel or cancel plans at the last minute.

Stepping into the ballroom was like immersing himself in a Disney movie, and Castiel felt like a prince.

Castiel was so lonely, spending his time alone in their apartment, pining for his own husband, desperately seeking any solace to ease him through each endless day.

Lovely classical musical lilted through the air, the clink of crystalline wine glasses a scintillating counterpoint, cast a spell, enhancing the feeling that with the evening existed in a place outside of time.

There was an ocean of emotional and physical space dividing them; they might as well be strangers - at least, if they didn’t know each other, if they met anew, they could try to start over.

Rich wood gleamed in the light of thousands of strung fairy lights, a chandelier sparkling over head, costumed people milling and talking and and dancing and meeting and parting.

Despite the dying embers of hope that sometimes flared in Castiel’s breast, he feared it was far too late to fix what was broken between them.

The smells of polish and pine and canapes wafted, sweet and tempting, drawing Castiel further into the room.

Castiel couldn’t live another day in the shattered ruins of what had once been his fondest dream.

A white-gloved waiter strolled by and Castiel grabbed what he thought was a glass of wine, and realized only when he took was sip was, incongruously, a pina colada. Sweet pineapple and coconut flooded his taste buds, the mild burn of good rum a wonderful counterpoint to the fruity flavors. 

Every sense was engaged, and Castiel was transported.

The ebb and flow of the crowd swept Castiel away. The mystery, the anonymity, was remarkable and spectacular. Though photographers from fashion blogs and periodicals snapped pictures of the evening’s haute couture, everyone was a stranger, unknown and unknownble and intriguing. The headlines wouldn’t say  _ “this celebrity was wearing these fashions,” _ merely, “a ball-goer in Dior,” or Soriano, or whoever. Not that Castiel wore designer-wear, and for that he was glad. He didn’t want the attention that being Someone would bring. His costume was sumptuous velvet, warm enough for the frigid winter night, and more intended to obscure his figure than to dazzle his fellows. His mask was his only indulgence; he’d paid Charlie a small fortune to design it for him using all her LARP and cosplay know-how. Instead of appearing as himself, boring middle manager Castiel Novak, he was a mysterious dragon prince, his snout sculpted, his molded scales shining in iridescent shades of blue, purple and green. Wings emerged from beneath the folds of blue fabric, completing the fantasy that he was a creature of vast age and power, leaving his cave for one single night to find succor and happiness with a mortal.

With how cold his relationship had grown with Dean, Castiel felt  _ precisely  _ like a cryptid out in the public for the first time in eons.

“May I have this dance?” a stranger asked, bowing to him. A glance established their compatibility - they both were purple gloves, indicating they identified as males and preferred male companionship, and the man’s gloves were a pleasant counterpoint to his princely garb, a royal, ermine-trimmed robe draped over his shoulders, a scepter cradled in one arm. With the merest nod, Castiel accepted the invitation, abandoning his drink on the tray of a convenient waiter. They joined hands and stepped onto the dance floor.

The man was  _ not  _ a dancer.

But that was okay. They parted with murmured thanks, and moved on to other partners, and within minutes Castiel was lost in the dizzying delights of the evening. He drank, and he talked, and he danced, and he spun, and he touched, and he danced again, and again, and again. The costumes were as varied as the people present, and the company was exceptional. Castiel resolved that in the hours before midnight, he’d work his way through every male-preferring man in the crowd, but it was easier said than done. There were several he kept missing, as partners came and went - in particular, a knight caught Castiel’s eye. He wore full plate armor, his mask actually a helmet topped with a spread of peacock plumes, the visor lowered. Instead of purple gloves, his gauntlets were etched and decorated with purple enamel. The outfit must have cost a fortune, all for the intrigue of one magical evening. Despite the obvious bulk of his accoutrement, he danced with ease and elegance, and periodically his laughter, a rich sound that tingled down Castiel’s spine, sang over the sound of the music.

Castiel  _ craved _ dancing with him.

It was nearing midnight before their paths crossed, and then it was gratifying to see that the Knight - as Castiel had come to think of him - sought out Castiel while Castiel yet scanned the crowd for his next partner.

“I regret that I’ve not had the opportunity to dance with you before this,” the Knight rumbled, his voice like warm honey, his movements elegant despite the exertions of the evening. “I wished to, but I’m a mere jouster, and faced with a dragon of legend...I fear defeat.”

“You needn’t,” Castiel said lightly, joy buoying him. “My hoard is safe at home, and I am here for a night without consequences - I don’t seek to vanquish any foe.” The Knight was spectacular - that armor wouldn’t have been able to hide an ounce of paunch, and the strength necessary to bear it was evident in every gesture. “Your hand, Sir Knight?”

The Knight offered it graciously, and Castiel could swear he felt his own enthusiasm mirrored in the Knight’s movements, his graceful steps, his pleased laughter. Their faces were completely obscured, so there was no knowing if they smiled, if they blushed, if their pleasure was mutual - except there was evidence, because not a minute into the waltz, the Knight broke their silence.

“Full confession...I’ve been watching you all evening.”

“Oh?” asked Castiel, breathless as he swept the Knight into a dip. Oh, god, yes, that armor was  _ heavy _ , but Castiel was strong enough to support him. They were a well-matched pair. Mornings at the gym were yet another escape from Dean, and Castiel indulged often.  _ And here I am, yet again escaping my husband...how did we reach this point? How did-- _

“You are...formidable,” admitted the Knight.

“As are you,” Castiel said dryly.

“This?” The Knight chuckled and took a hand from Castiel’s waist to rap an armored knuckle against his breastplate. It resounded with a dull clang. “You’re not wrong...I fear in my attempts to cut an impressive figure, I may not have factored in the intimidation factor of showing up at this shindig in 80 pounds of iron. Even more so now that I have reason to believe that wearing this has kept me from your side for these many hours!”

And he was  _ gallant _ . 

Castiel was  _ doomed _ , in the best possible way.

So they talked, and they swept across the dance floor, and they laughed, and they panted their way through their efforts, and they twisted and twirled in perfect harmony. The Knight was a fine dancer, just the kind of partner Castiel had longed for all evening. He wanted mystery and romance. He wanted to be tantalized and tempted. He wanted to be curious and eager.

He wanted to be  _ enthralled _ .

The song ended, and they froze in the center of the dance floor as the other pairs drifted off around them.

He  _ was  _ enthralled.

“Another?” Castiel dared to ask.

A pause hung, heavy, between them, and then the Knight nodded, his face plate clanging against the rim of the helmet.

The next song began.

And together, they danced once more.

Neither sought another partner, not for the next dance, nor the next, nor the one after that. The longer they danced, the more certain Castiel became that the Knight was  _ the one _ . At the strike of midnight - at the start of the New Year - the party staff would offer to deliver a single rose from each participant to the reveler of their choice, and if two people matched, they’d be allowed - if they chose - to reveal their identities to each other. Castiel was all-in on fresh starts and new beginnings, and he had eyes for no one other than his Knight.

“I’ve been looking forward to this evening for so long,” the Knight confessed at one point, a perfect echo of Castiel’s thoughts.

“Real life is so ordinary,” agreed Castiel, relishing the Knights murmured  _ yes, yes, exactly _ . Every topic they broached, it was like they shared a brain. Castiel hadn’t met anyone he was so sympatico with since he’d met Dean, and they’d lost that connection ages ago. “I go to work, I go home, I go through the motions...I miss romance and mystery and... _ anticipation _ . I miss the  _ magic _ .”

“Exactly,” breathed the Knight. “How are you...No, I shouldn’t.”

“You should,” Castiel pushed, blood pounding in his ears. He’d not meant to send a rose to anyone. Simply  _ being  _ at the ball, seeking joy dancing with a stranger, was a violation of emotional intimacy with his husband. To seek further than that would be even worse - unforgivable - and would force him to a confrontation with Dean that he didn’t want to face.

“How are you so perfect?” The Knight sounded like simply whispering the words nearly brought him to tears. 

But, the longer he danced with the Knight, the longer Castiel imagined what it might be like to be with a partner who shared his desires...the more Castiel accepted the tenuous, fresh bond he felt with this stranger, the more the confrontation with Dean seemed essential and inevitable.

“That’s exactly what I wanted to say,” laughed Castiel, but there was a catch in his voice as well. Admitting desire for another, admitting how much he yearned for what they’d shared in the last hour, was like tearing his heart out.

Castiel still loved Dean.

“Don’t say that...I’m not. There’s so much you don’t know about me…” said the Knight. 

But at some point, that love had ceased to be enough. It was quiet, restrained, prosaic, and Castiel longed for so much  _ more _ .

“There’s much you don’t know about me, either.” Castiel’s heart raced with anticipation and desire and  _ hope _ . “But I’d like...I’d  _ love _ ...to have the chance to learn more.”

Castiel longed for a Knight, to sweep him off his feet, take him on adventures, love him and cherish him...longed for a Knight, whom Castiel could sweep off his feet, and take on adventures, and love, and cherish. 

The music went silent.

Castiel longed to be a dragon, to find a consuming love and  _ devour _ him.

The first toll of midnight struck.

The Knight stared at Castiel, and Castiel stared back.

The second toll of midnight struck.

A waiter approached them, a purple rose in each hand; she bowed and held the flowers out for them to take.

The third toll of midnight struck.

Heart pounding, Castiel took his rose, and the Knight took his.

The fourth toll of midnight struck.

“I shouldn’t…” the Knight said, but he also didn’t move, didn’t leave, didn’t glance away.

The fifth toll of midnight struck.

“...neither should I…” whispered Castiel.

The sixth toll of midnight struck.

“You’re not obligated,” Castiel added.

The seventh toll of midnight struck.

“I know I’m not…”

The eighth toll of midnight struck.

“...but I’d be lying if I didn’t acknowledge just how badly I want to.”

The ninth toll of midnight struck.

“Me too...me too.”

The tenth toll of midnight struck.

Castiel smiled, and his heart thudded, and his skin tingled with anticipation and need and regret and longing and the certainty that, regardless of what he  _ should _ do, he knew what he was  _ going _ to do.

The eleventh toll of midnight struck.

They stared at each other, and, as one, they lifted their roses and offered them in exchange, a flower for a flower, a heart for a heart, an identity for an identity.

The twelfth toll of midnight struck.

The magic of the night, of the dance, of the Knight, of the Dragon, swirled around Castiel, swirled through them both. Feeling as if he was in a dream, his body disconnected from his consciousness, his hopes swelling him like a balloon, he lifted an arm that weighed a thousand pounds, that was as light as a feather, and removed his mask. Standing at arm’s length from him, the Knight did the same, reaching up and fumbling with armored fingers until he found the hook on his face plate and lifted it.

Castiel gazed upon his Knight.

Castiel gazed upon  _ Dean _ .

“What?”

Castiel wasn’t sure which of them barely vocalized astonishment. Tears filled his eyes, and with a shaking hand he reached out and brushed a gloved finger over Dean’s cheek. Velvet snagged at scruff, the feel of it shivering down Castiel’s spine.

“Cas…” Dean leaned into the contact; he was so strong, so noble, so…

...so perfect…

Throat dry, Castiel swallowed back his grief, his amazement, his delight. “Hello, Dean.”

“Did you…” Dean shook his head, splattering tears to gleam on the polished metal of his helmet. “Did you  _ know _ ? That I was...me?”

“No,” Castiel replied. “Did you?” Dean just kept shaking his head, disbelieving. His eyes were wide, glimmering in the dark shadow cast by the top of his helmet. The peacock feathers bobbed and swayed with his every movement. All around them, other people talked, crowed, kissed, danced, the music resuming, but they stood still on the dance floor, lost in their own world.

“I knew you were unhappy...it’s my fault, I lost you, I know I did, and I had no idea how to fix it. I never thought you’d like to do something like this. I...I never  _ really  _ knew you...did I?...I never imagined--”

Castiel silenced Dean with a finger over his mouth. “Forget about it. We’ve both failed the other. We’ve both been... _ insufferably _ ...foolish, but we’ve gotten what most people never do.”

“A second chance.”

“Yes. A second chance.”

The moment stretched out between them, and then their bodies crashed together, their mouths slamming into each other. Dean’s armor was hard, his helmet uncomfortable against Castiel’s cheeks, but he didn’t care. He needed to feel - needed this confirmation that whatever had just happened to them, it  _ was  _ the renewal he thought it was. Dean’s movements were passionate, his tongue teasing at Castiel’s lips. 

Doing this in their costumes was  _ ridiculously _ unpleasant.

But kissing Dean was, with the spark alight once more and passion in every movement, was  _ deliriously _ good.

A dancing couple bumped into them and called breathless apologies as they swirled away.

“This armor is...extremely hot...in every sense of the word, if it’s anything like my costume…” Castiel murmured.

“God, it is,” acknowledged Dean.

“What do you say we return to my dressing room?” Castiel suggested. Dean’s eager nod knocked their heads together; when Castiel had a headache tomorrow, which he was  _ sure _ he would, he wouldn’t only have rum-soaked pina coladas to blame. “We have a lot to...talk...about.”

“Yeah…” Grasping Castiel’s hand, Dean pulled him from the dance floor, strides confident, grip possessive. “...you’re absolutely right. Let’s...talk.”

Laughing with delight, heart lighter than it had been in years, Castiel allowed himself to be drawn into private, allowed himself to be disrobed, allowed himself to be exposed.

Dean was with him.

Dean still loved him.

They still loved  _ each other _ , and they’d finally,  _ finally  _ found each other.

They had so much to talk about, to work through, to rediscover, to learn for the first time, about each other.

Everything was going to be all right.

Everything was going to be  _ amazing _ .

**Author's Note:**

> To be clear, there's no pretending one good night will fix all the problems in their relationship...but they have a new foundation to start from, and I dunno, I'm pretty sure these two morons are going to be _fine_. :D


End file.
